


Big Lights Bright Cities

by navree



Category: Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US), Real News RPF
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Texting, maybe so or maybe not fuck off, was this inspired by jim being in Oslo?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/pseuds/navree
Summary: The fact that this is what does him in, at the end of the day, is really just so stupid. So unbelievably fucking stupid.They're oftentimes in different cities, different continents even. They keep in touch with texting. But absolutely no phone calls.





	Big Lights Bright Cities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [retweet_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/retweet_this/gifts).



> I blame Buzzfeed Unsolved. I blame Buzzfeed Unsolved for turning me onto RPF which set me on this path and now here I am, debasing my office, and for what? Two dumbass journalists who work for the most trusted name in news? I'm sorry Mom. And yes this title is a bastardization of the title of the major motion picture starring Michael J. Fox.  
> as always, comments (either positive or constructive) are always welcome and much appreciated!

There's an arrangement that they've developed for whenever the other is traveling for any period of time in a different city or country. No phone calls. They can text until their thumbs bleed and their vision blurs, but no one is to dial the other's number, or pick up the phone, and press it to his ear. If Jake is entirely honest with himself, he doesn't even remember the reason behind this rule. 

He doesn't even remember who came up with it, only that it's Jim that seems more ready to adhere to it whenever one or both of them is out of D.C. But they both follow this rule pretty closely. No phone calls. 

A lot of texts, though. Maybe almost to an embarrassing level. Sometimes just pictures, sometimes long conversations. Sometimes innocent nothings sent in the middle of the day, or sometimes late night...you know. Sometimes, they leave each other on _read_. But it's always texts. No phone calls.

 

 

 

Jake likes company. Jim is in his office, in the chair across from his desk, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling pensively, hands braced behind his head. His Adam's apple bobs unevenly when he swallows. "I'm going to Oslo." He doesn't see it, but Jake's head, previously buried in a Washington Post article, snaps up. 

"Oslo, _Nor_ way?" 

"No, the Oslo in Minnesota." Jim leans back further and kicks his feet up on the desk, resting them there. His legs stretch out, and either Jake's going insane or he hears a cracking sound from the joints. He tries not to look to concerned as he glances Jim over. 

Jim notices the glance, if not the emotion behind it, and winks at him. 

"Any reason why you're going to Oslo, Norway?" Jake asks, adjusting his reading glasses. "Or did you just feel like now was the most optimal time for a European vacation?" 

"There's never an optimal time for a European vacation." He says this with far too much sage wisdom, as if he's the world's leading authority on these matters. "But no, this is business, not pleasure. Schibsted invited me to speak at their Power to Journalism conference. I said yes. It's time to bring some real news to the Norwegian masses." Jake manages to keep his expression neutral for almost ten seconds, but Jim's smile is so infectious that he can't help but mirror it. 

"How long are you gonna be gone?" 

"Bout a week." 

"Hm." They lapse into an easy silence for a while. Jake's fingers tap a steady rhythm against the desk. "Different weather there than here." 

"God, I _know_." Jim looks at him, his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. "I have no clue what to even pack for this trip." 

_He's being coy and being coy gives you and out to say no thank you I should be getting home to my wife and kids which is exactly what you should be doing because you have a life and a family that deserves better than this and better than you and maybe one day Jen'll finally get tired of your bullshit and hightail it out of here and goddammit just say no and let him founder-_

"I'll come over later, help you get you put your suitcase together."

_Good and you really should just keep it at that-_

"Thanks." A flash of that winsome smile, the one he's been giving since day one that turns Jake Tapper from award winning journalist into a weak kneed idiot and reprehensible family man. 

_Fuck it._

 

 

 

There is a suitcase open, propped up against the wall, and there are a few clothes thrown in it haphazardly. There's also a messy bed and two people in the messy bed and really anyone should be able to guess what exactly just went on in the messy bed. 

It wasn't packing. 

"You want me to text you when I get to the airport?" Jake's breathing, which is always uneven, always a bit touch and go in these moments, hitches in his throat. He's not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because Jim sounds honestly sincere when he asks the question, like it's a genuine suggestion and not a subtle reminder of _Hey, don't forget The Rule_. 

"Do _you_ want to text me when you get to the airport?" Jim twists his lips, as if deep in thought. As if it hadn't been his suggestion in the first place. Maybe he just likes to keep Jake on his toes. 

"Yeeeeeaaaaah," is his response, stretched out in the almost hesitant way of a child giving the answer to a math problem, an answer they've gotten through nothing more or less than guesswork. "Yeah," he says again, more decisive this time. 

"OK." He's a journalist, an award winning journalist. He should be more verbose. Or at least have something more to say than _OK_. "Pack a jacket, just in case." Jim glances at him, eyebrows hitting his hairline. 

"Is that a euphemism?" he asks. Jake swats at his arm, a tired smile on his lips. 

"No it's not a euphemism. It's still Norway, even if it's also the summer. Pack something heavy just in case the weather gets weird and it ends up being colder than you expected. That, and an extra suit. Just in case." Maybe it's what he says or the way he says it, but Jim starts laughing to himself, shaking his head. 

"Extra suit..." The look he gives him is almost fond. So instead of doing anything productive, like talking, or even helping with the packing like he was supposed to do, Jake kisses him. Jim kisses him back. 

In the room, the temperature gets warmer, the air thicker, the breathing heavier. The bag remains unpacked for the rest of the night. It's OK, because Jim isn't leaving for at least another 48 hours. 

 

 

 

_[Jim] At the airport, about to go through security_

_[Jake] Have a safe flight_

_[Jim] Thanks_

_[Jake] Text me when you land?_

**_read at 8:39 AM EST_ **

 

 

 

_[Jim] sent a photo._

_[Jim] This place is gorgeous_

_[Jake] It's 2:30 in the morning_

_[Jim] 2:34 technically_

_[Jake] You get what I'm saying_

_[Jim] Fake News Tapper_

_[Jake] Just up and take pictures_

_[Jake] It is beautiful though_

_[Jim] Not the only thing_

_[Jake] I would take that as a compliment_

_[Jake] If I didn't know you_

_[Jim] But?_

_[Jake] But I do_

_[Jake] And you're talking about yourself_

_[Jim] No comment_

_[Jim] Go to sleep_

 

 

 

He Who Must Not Be Named cancels his North Korean summit with no warning to anyone, not the South Koreans or his military or his staffers or the journalists in the now potentially hostile North Korea. So they, everyone at CNN and ABC and MSNBC and God even Fox, they're all scrapping any preplanned news segments they'd wanted on their shows, once again struggling to keep pace. 

It keeps his mind busy at least until he's in front of the camera and live in front of the nation. 

That week, they have Jeff Zeleny on the show. Which is fine, in and of itself. Jeff's a great guy, and a great journalist, and he might actually be easier for everyone to deal with than Jim is. But he's also not Jim. He doesn't have that same eclectic energy that seems to bounce around, that radiates enough that everyone around him can always feel it, whether he's in the same studio or over at the White House, or even traveling with He Who Must Not Be Named.

Jeff doesn't make him want to stare and stare and stare and keep on looking until the last possible second, doesn't make him scared to close his eyes or even blink lest he miss a second. Jeff doesn't have that same electricity, the one that dries the tongue and tightens the throat **_(_** and the pants **_)_** and turns the brain to mush. Jeff is fucking good at his job, and Jake has never disagreed with having him on the show. But any time someone asks him "Hey which correspondent should we have on to discuss today's disaster?", _Jeff_ is never the name that pops in his head first and foremost. 

"Jeff Zeleny, always a pleasure." 

And this time it's a formality. Again, Jeff is not the first person to come to mind when he thinks of pleasure, but he's on air and these are thoughts best reserved for later in the day. Of course, when Jim's on and Jake bids him farewell, you can tell that he _means_ it, that he really and truly means it, and sometimes there's a hint of fondness that creeps into Jim's adieu as well. It makes his chest warm. 

"Thanks Jake." 

He doesn't necessarily appreciate the slight knowing lilt in Jeff's voice, and if he wasn't supposed to discuss things with his panel he would stew on it, get irritated with himself over how obvious he knows he must be. Jake's eyes catch Rahmeen's ever so briefly. He's shaking his head. 

Later, when they're on a commercial break, as Jake's shuffling through his notes and getting his mic pack readjusted and getting himself touched up - which will forever make him feel bizarre and uncomfortable until the end of time - Rahmeen comes up, ostensibly to make sure he's camera ready. 

"You remember the office Christmas party last year?" he asks casually. Jake takes a sip from his mug. 

"Yeah, I do." When he sets it down, Rahmeen repositions it. "Why're you bringing it up? It's May."

"You still have the gift the graphics team gave you?" For a moment, he's absolutely confused. And then he remembers, and he wonders whether or not he should let Rahmeen know he remembers. Because they gave him eyedrops. Haha, very funny, he had a tendency not to blink when _some_ people were on with him, so they gave him eyedrops. Truly, the pinnacles of comedy. 

"Yup." He pops the p and straightens his papers. Rahmeen nods, both to Jake and to himself, and moves back to his regular spot, because they're back live in thirty seconds. Jake's phone vibrates, and when he tugs it out, there's a text from Jim, because of course there is, and it's of two things exactly: a picture of _The Scream_ by Edvard Munch, and a small little emoji that looks shockingly like it directly below.

He manages to stop smiling, but his eyes still sparkle as they return from their commercial break. 

What were they even selling again? Toothbrushes, glasses, advertising for a Tracey Morgan show? Who can fucking remember? 

 

 

 

_[Jake] Are you even allowed to take pictures in museums?_

_[Jim] No clue_

_[Jake] You didn't bother to check?_

_[Jim] Museum staff doesn't scare me_

_[Jake] Still!!!!!_

_[Jim] I cover Trump rallies. I can handle Norwegians_

_[Jake] Your lack of self preservation is astounding_

_[Jim] I think it makes me a daredevil_

_[Jake] Or just really stupid_

_[Jim] We can't all be award winners Jacob_

_[Jake] It doesn't take a genius to win awards_

_[Jim] Clearly not_

_[Jake] That's hurtful_

_[Jake] I'm hurt_

_[Jim] You get hurt if someone says they're not buying your book_

_[Jake] Fuck you_

_[Jim] Not at least for another week_

 

 

 

Jake has had the misfortune of driving a car in Los Angeles and Washington D.C., and while LA's is objectively worse, there's just something so much more infuriating about D.C.'s. Maybe it's because he almost always has somewhere he's itching to get to when driving in D.C. Either he wants to get to work or he wants to get home to Jen and the kids and the dogs. There's oftentimes people he needs to get to here. 

The traffic moves forward about an inch. Jake taps his fingers against the steering wheel, hums a few notes to himself. He hates traffic. He's listening to a podcast via Bluetooth **_(_** Chris Hayes **_)_** in order to keep his mind occupied. He feels exhausted; he wants to be on his couch with his dog and rest his eyes. 

The text alert pings through the car, and they've gone to a complete stop so Jake only feels mildly guilty about glancing down to see who texted him. It is, to no surprise whatsoever, Jim, probably with some witty observation **_(_** or at least an observation he thinks is witty **_)_** or a picture he's snapped of something mundane but it's not really mundane because it's in Oslo and Jake's biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

God. God _damm_ it, he wants to break The Rule. It's not the first time he's thought it, nor will it be the last, but he wants to hear Jim's voice, wants to hear his laugh. During those months when they actually let him on The Lead, Jake lived for that voice in his ear, that sunshine baritone with its bizarrely unique cadence that no one probably thinks about except him. 

His fingers itch and twitch slightly, as if he's about to reach for the phone and dial Jim's number. But he's had that thought before, numerous times, when he's on a trip or more often when Jim's on a trip. And it passes. It always passes. 

Sure enough, his phone does ring, and it's Jen. He answers almost pathetically quickly, turning up the volume so her voice drowns out the occasional honking horn and the thoughts in his head. 

"Hey, just wanted to know if I should put food for you in the microwave." He hears Alice clamoring for her attention in the background. 

"Might as well. Traffic's a bitch and I might be home late." She gives a little laugh on the other line. 

"OK then. I love you." 

"Love you too." They hang up, and he spends the rest of the interminable car ride determined to keep Jim off his mind. 

 

 

 

_[Jim] Timezones really mad you think about how time really is just a social construct_

_[Jake] Jesus Christ how much sleep are you running on???_

_[Jim] Like thirty minutes_

_[Jake] Jim that's not healthy_

_[Jim] I'm aware_

_[Jake] Take a nap!_

_[Jim] No_

_[Jim] I'm a grown man you don't need to nanny me_

_[Jake] Someone's got to_

**_read at 2:17 PM EST_ **

 

 

 

_[Jim] What do Norwegian people even speak?_

_[Jim] My mind says Nordish but I don't think that's right_

_[Jake] Are you serious?_

_[Jim] Yeah_

_[Jake] They speak NORWEGIAN_

_[Jake] You literally just typed it_

_[Jim] Huh_

 

 

 

_[Jake] Would you recommend Disneyland?_

_[Jim] ????_

_[Jake] Thinking of taking the family to Cali_

_[Jake] Would the little ones Disneyland?_

_[Jim] Oh shit hold on a minute_

_[Jake] Sure thing_

_[Jim] Sharon took the kids there last summer_

_[Jim] I'm asking her if it was a success_

_[Jim] Yeah she texted back and it's like crack for kids_

_[Jim] You should be good_

_[Jake] Maybe I'll finally nab that Dad of the Year award_

_[Jim] You mean there's an award you HAVEN'T nabbed yet???_

_[Jim] I'm shocked!!!_

 

_[Jake] sent a photo_

_[Jim] Awwwwwwwww_

_[Jim] You should post more on Winston's page and less on yours_

_[Jake] Ouch_

_[Jim] Winston doesn't rile people up_

_[Jim] You do_

_[Jake] That's rich, coming from you!_

_[Jim] That's not rile that's a natural response to my charisma_

_[Jake] If that helps you sleep at night_

_[Jim] You know full well that's not what helps me sleep at night ;)_

_[Jake] Jim_

_[Jim] Should I go on?_

 

 

 

Several messages later and Jake comes with his lips pressed tightly together to avoid making a sound. On the other side of the Atlantic, alone in a hotel room, he's sure Jim has no such reservations. 

 

 

 

_[Jake] You have to give a speech right?_

_[Jim] Right_

_[Jake] Have you written it?_

_[Jim] I've written a draft_

_[Jake] Hmmmmm_

_[Jim] ...Half of a draft_

_[Jake] Write your speech Jim_

 

 

 

He gets several short texts while taping a new fact check segment. Mostly jokes and the occasional desire for speech writing advice. They're all more than welcome. These are his favorite messages from Jim, the unfiltered access into his mind, the bizarre ways in which it works. It twists and it turns. 

He's grinning like an idiot at his phone, smile wide and no doubt he's doing the no blinking thing everyone makes fun of him for. But who fucking cares? 

 

 

 

_[Jim] Speechwriting is some bullshit_

_[Jim] I mean, it isn't_

_[Jim] But speechwriting is bullshit_

_[Jim] You get what I mean?_

_[Jake] You don't like writing speeches?_

_[Jim] I HATE writing speeches_

 

 

 

On a logical level, to a logical person, it's nothing. But at the same time, it's everything.

Jake knows people have read his book. The masses have read his book. Celebrities had read his book. Paul Rudd read his book. James Marsden read his book. Stephen Colbert read his book. Jake Gyllenhaal read his book. It's been on the New York Times bestsellers list, for Christ sake! But Jim posted something on his Instagram story **_(_** and the fact that Jake is trolling his Instagram story is really pathetic  ** _)_**  involving a stack of books and his 'hotel reading list' and Jake saw _The Hellfire Club_ peeking out between the spines of _War On Peace_ and _Murder On The Orient Express._

Something inside him falls apart. The fact that this is what does him in, at the end of the day, is really just so stupid. So unbelievably fucking stupid. Out of everything, this is small fries. 

Except it's not. For some reason, it's not. And then he's got his phone out and he's dialing the third name on his Favorites list in his contacts and _oh God_ when did everything in his life get so messy and then the phone is ringing and then someone on the other end picks up. 

"Jacob _Paul_ Tapper..." Jim sounds ready to read him the riot act when Jake cuts him off.

"You're reading my book." Silence. It stretches out over the Atlantic, and he feels compelled to break it. "It's just...I'm...you're reading my book." It doesn't sound any less dumbfounding when Jake says it a second time. Jim's sigh is a crackle over the line. 

"Yeah." His answer is nonchalant. "Yeah, you actually interrupted me reading your book." 

"I did?" 

"Yup." There's another pause, this time shorter. "It's a good book." Whatever thing inside him that tumbled apart earlier just lost even more of its structural integrity.

"You think so?" He sounds way too eager

"You're really looking to me for astute literary analysis?" Jake chuckles almost in spite of himself, and he hears a similar huff from Jim's end of the phone. 

"No, I guess I'm not," he admits. "Thanks," he adds, a late addendum. 

"For what?" Jake doesn't need to respond, and Jim knows it. He's thanking him for reading his book, for thinking that his book is good, for caring enough about the stupid book at all, let alone enough to bring it with him to Oslo, Norway. For a multitude of things, really, that have all concentrated themselves into the fact that Jim is reading his book. 

"I shouldn't have called." But he doesn't regret it. 

"No." There are two ways to read that. It could be Jim agreeing with him. Agreeing that he shouldn't have called, shouldn't have broken The Rule. Normally, that would be the only way to read it. As much as he loves to play coy, Jim Acosta is nothing if not upfront about how he feels about something. But it's the way he says the simple _No_ that allows Jake to lean into the second reading. 

Jim doesn't think calling was the wrong thing to do at all. Jim thinks it's the exactly the right thing to do. Maybe he's been thinking like Jake's been thinking, fighting the urge to pick up the phone and just dial the line. Maybe he's had the phone in his hand numerous times over in Oslo, fingers poised over the numbers, before flinging it onto the nightstand and screwing his eyes shut. 

The swallow is so loud that even Jake hears it, across the Atlantic. " _Jacob_." If you asked him to describe what exactly Jim must be feeling when he says his name, his full name, he wouldn't be able to tell you. There seems to be every single emotion under the sun mixed in that one word. 

Jake makes a strangled gasping noise and promptly hangs up. 

 

 

 

_"Hey, it's me...Sorry about the sudden ending last night, the call dropped. You mind if I call you tonight? Or you can call me, whichever...But let's talk. Seriously. I don't mind breaking The Rule a second time. Sorry...Yeah, sorry but it's true. OK. Bye."_

 

 

Actually, Jim calls this time, and it's a bit disheartening when the first thing Jake hears is a yawn. 

"Seriously?" 

"Sorry." He even sounds a little contrite. That's new. Jim almost never apologizes for anything, even when he should. Jake assumes it's part of the package for his rather shocking vanity. "I just got out of the presentation, and my stomach was in knots about it all night so I didn't get much sleep."

"Is that the only reason your stomach was in knots?" Instantly, Jake regrets saying it. He can be the king of bluntness, safely ensconced behind his news desk and with a nation cheering him on behind their screens. But when he has to deal with all of this, emotions and uncertainties and shit, he's become very good at vacillating in a way that would make anyone think they were getting somewhere, when in fact they were getting absolutely nowhere. 

"No." He pictures Jim, still in his suit **_(_** the navy blue one probably **_)_** , tie loose and unknotted, salt and pepper hair in disarray, slight shadows under dark eyes, flopped in a chair with an arm dangling over the side, wanting to sleep but on the phone with Jake instead, worrying his lip between his teeth. Wow, his fantasies have gotten very vivid. Absence makes the heart grow fonder indeed.

**_(_** Spoiler alert: that is _exactly_ what Jim looks like in his hotel in Oslo **_)_**

"No?" 

"No, that's not the only reason why my stomach was in knots last night." They lapse into a silence. It's not comfortable per se, but it's definitely not easy. "You wanna know why I always wanted us to keep on following The Rule?" Jake's mouth dries slightly, and Jim forges ahead without him. "I travel a lot for this job. With all the rallies and foreign trips and not to mention all the other stuff." There's such a distasteful quality in Jim's voice that it almost makes Jake laugh. He talks instead. 

"So, you travel a lot..." He hears Jim's long intake of breath, and tries not to snap at him to get on with it. 

"It's easier to not miss people if I don't hear their voices while I'm away. If I'm just reading something instead of listening to them talk. Otherwise...Well, listening is too much of a half measure. I'd prefer no measures at all." Jake grinds his teeth down for a moment. That makes sense. That actually makes a lot of sense, because there's a slight ache in hearing Jim's voice now. It makes sense that Jim doesn't want to hear from him at all, for fear of hearing just a little and missing all too much. 

It's a touching realization to know that he's at least partially as invested in this as Jake is. He should tell him that.

"So do you not watch my show while you're out and about?" he asks instead. Because he does watch Jim's correspondence on occasion. When he misses hearing Jim's voice, like the idiot he is.

"Traveling me is an avid supporter of The Situation Room," Jim admits. Jake coughs out a laugh. 

"Should I be hurt?" 

"The opposite," Jim insists. "It means I'm completely assured in the knowledge that I will never experience anything remotely close to desire for Wolf Blitzer." 

"Oh _God_ that's a mental image I don't need." And they're both tired and both on strung out emotions so they both burst into peals of laughter, a veritable fit. When Jake manages to get ahold of himself, Jim having already quieted, he's still smiling, and this time the silence is easy. "So is this a one time thing?" 

"Breaking The Rule?" Jim's voice is cloying, that's the only way Jake can describe it, and Jim knows that it must be driving him crazy. "Technically, it's a two time thing. Three time thing, if your voicemail counts." 

"You know what I mean." 

"I do." He hears a faint tapping across the line, and imagines Jim is drumming his fingers against a table or the arm of a chair. "No, I think we're gonna keep doing this. It's like the slippery slope Republicans like to bring up when talking about drug use. Now that we're opening the door for in voice communication, I don't want it to stop." Jake's lips twitch upward, and for a moment he wishes he could see the expression on his face, although it's probably disgustingly sappy and longing. 

"That's...oddly sweet." 

"Shut up." They laugh together. And then they stay on the phone for at least another hour despite the fact that they should both be trying to get some rest.

 

 

 

_"I almost called you, once."_

_"On this trip?"_

_"No. California."_

 

 

 

All Jake really knows about the California road trip was that it was very spur of the moment for Jim, and that it oh so happened to fall on the weekend that would have been his wedding anniversary. It makes sense. In the dark moments when he lets himself wonder what would happen if Jen left him, or he left her, or for some reason they ended up mutually leaving each other, he can't even think about the void that would be future, unfulfilled anniversaries, for _anything_ , without going into convulsions. 

He was left on read a lot during the California road trip. He gets left on read a lot when Jim thinks he's being too caring, as if Jim doesn't like being cared for or doesn't quite know how to respond to someone caring for me so instead he just shoves it aside and goes to the opposite end of the spectrum, the 'I don't even care one iota' end of the spectrum as if that'll make Jake stop caring, like anything can make Jake stop caring. God even just thinking about that makes his chest tighten. 

When Jim came back he was at his apartment the very next night and Jim _fucked_ him, all clenched jaw and tight gripping fingers and it still makes Jake's breathing short to think about it. 

Of course, Jake felt like calling Jim during the California trip as well. He always felt like calling Jim, no matter the trip. But, true to form until most recently, he hadn't. 

 

 

 

_"So I finished the book."_

_"Oh shit really?"_

_"Yeah and I have some questions."_

_"...Shoot."_

_"So if you're supposed to be Charlie-"_

_"I never said that-"_

_"Yeah but we all know it's true."_

_"I...that..."_

_"Anyway, if you're Charlie and Jen is Margaret does that make me LaMontagne?"_

_"...Actually, maybe. Yeah!"_

_"OK so why did you kill him?"_

_"Are you serious?"_

_"Very. Do you and I need to talk?"_

_"Talk about what?"_

_"The fact that you killed me."_

_"Why, do you think I'm gonna shove you out a window?"_

_"You shoved my 1950s proxy out a window!"_

_"Because I needed to tie up the narrative!"_

_"You didn't need to kill him!"_

_"What should I have done with the dickish mercenary?"_

_"Had him mysteriously vanish only to pop up in the sequels."_

_"Killing him worked with the story."_

_"Well I'm offended that you killed me."_

_"I didn't kill you I killed a character."_

_"Who is based on me."_

_"Fine, I killed you, and I'm sorry."_

_"How're you gonna make it up to me?"_

_"How much free time do you have right now?"_

_"...Enough."_

 

 

 

_"You don't have FaceTime do you?"_

_"I mean I do but I'm drawing the line at FaceTime."_

_"What? Why?"_

_"Because we already broke the rule with talking on the phone as it is. We're not breaking it more."_

_"Rule breaking's fun."_

_"In small doses."_

 

 

 

_"God I hope He Who Must Not Be Named goes to Norway at some point."_

_"For his Nobel prize?"_

_"Shut the fuck up."_

_*laughter*_

_"Why do you want him to come to Norway?"_

_"Because I'm actually gonna miss this place."_

_"Huh."_

_"It's just...it's stunning."_

_"Ideal vacation spot?"_

_"At least if I wanna go on my lonesome or with a select few."_

_"You've fallen in love with Norway."_

_"I have, haven't I?"_

_"Yup."_

_"I should bring back some Norwegians to make him happy."_

_"Maybe he'll call you pretty again."_

_"Oh yeah, that would be the absolute dream."_

 

 

 

"Jim's Instagram says he boarded the plane back to D.C. sixteen minutes ago." It's a combination of things that make Jake almost drop his breakfast plate. Jen speaking after a mostly silent morning, and what she says, and also Clementine ducking between his legs and almost making him trip. He puts the plate in the dishwasher before anything unseemly can happen. 

"You're on Jim's Instagram?" She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow at him. 

"You're _not_?" She doesn't verbalize her point, but it's salient nonetheless. He ducks his head. To be fair to himself, in the rare moment when he wants to, he's never on Instagram anymore. Except for that time when he saw that Jim was reading his book. "I hope he had a nice trip." 

"Yeah, me too." 

 

 

 

_[Jim] I should be back in D.C. at around eight thirty tonight_

_[Jake] Have a safe flight_

 

 

 

He's at Jim's place before Jim is at Jim's place. He's sitting on the steps that lead up to his brownstone, because of course _Abilio James Acosta_ would have a brownstone. He's tapping his fingers against his thigh and looking up at the stars when a cab pulls up and Jim clambers out with his one suitcase and his salt and pepper hair delightfully mussed. 

They stare at each other and Jake wonders if maybe, just maybe, showing up at Jim's place before Jim himself makes him look like an idiot. 

Then Jim bursts into a fit of giggles, doubling over and smiling so wide it must hurt **_(_** and it certainly hurts to look at **_)_** and acting as if he's made of sunshine and Jake feels warm. Jim walks up to where Jake is sitting, and Jake stands. Jim just hiccups past a few more peals of laughter and stares at him with his same smile, an almost starry look in his eyes. 

"Hi." Jake smiles too. Not as open and wide and free, but still. It's a smile. 

"Hi." Jim fishes his key out of his pocket and turns it in the lock, and is Jake supplanting what he actually sees for what he wants to see or are his hands shaking just a little bit?

They're silent as they enter the foyer, as Jim closes the door and sets his suitcase down and leans against the wall. Jake leans against the opposite wall, his hands twitching aimlessly at his side. Jim's are folded carefully and deliberately in front of him. They stare at each other, each seemingly searching the other's face, eyes flickering, dark on dark. 

Jim's expression is unreadable. Jake hopes his is too, although knowing his track record when it comes to looking at Jim, every single emotion in his heart, every single thought in his head, is being broadcast on his face for Jim to peruse at his leisure. The air is thick and heavy with words unspoken. Among other things. 

Jim cuts through the stillness when he reaches out and grabs Jake by the back of his neck and pulls him close until he's kissing him, body slotted up perfectly against Jake's. They're hot, open mouthed, needy kisses, _desperate_ kisses, and they both have their hands in each other's hair but Jim's teeth scrape against his bottom lip ever so slightly and Jake keens against his mouth. It's like a hunger, an aching hunger, a starvation that can only be alleviated with the other's touch, nails digging into the scalp and pleading kisses pressed against the jawline. 

God, it feels like it's been so much longer than it actually was. 

"Bedroom?" Jim's breathless when they part, and his eyes are dark and filled with something, everything. Jake nods rapidly, heart stuttering in his chest. 

"Bedroom." 

And once all that's over and done with and they're satiated in that way they can only do for each other, Jim's passed out cold, sound asleep in a matter of minutes. Because, after all, he does have to grapple with both a stunning time difference and having gone from a rather restless flight to a little bit of unorthodox exercise when he really should have been sleeping. 

Jake texts Jen that he won't be making it home and sleeps next to him. 

 

 

 

He leaves early the next morning, when Jim is still asleep, as he's likely to be for some time, and gets a change of clothes from the house before heading into work. He's fidgeting with his phone when a archive footage comes on the most recent broadcast, and who should be there but Jim himself, looking spry and spiffy in that one navy blue suit. 

Jake snaps a picture as soon as he can, and opens his messages to tap out a text to accompany the corresponding image, hitting send with a grin. Maybe Jim won't see it now, won't see it until he wakes up, but hopefully it'll make him smile that beautiful smile. 

 

 

 

_[Jake] sent a photo_

_[Jake] A "real beauty" indeed ;)_

 

 

 

_[Jim] HA <3 :)_


End file.
